


Heat Wave

by linaerys



Series: SGA Restaurant AU [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-12
Updated: 2006-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: PWP. Atlantis is a restaurant in Manhattan. Rodney is the chef. John is the bartender. Sequel toThe OpeningandBalancing Actbut neither are required reading.
Relationships: Sheppard/McKay
Series: SGA Restaurant AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804396
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Heat Wave

It’s the second week of August and New York is disgustingly hot. The air is full of heat mirages, and the steam from the million and one dead things rotting on the streets combines into a horrible, visible haze over the whole city.

Rodney doesn’t go outside, except to get to and from work, and even John doesn’t suggest going to the beach. They haven’t been seeing much of each other outside work, for no other reason than it’s too hot to think about touching.

Power goes periodically at the restaurant, and they’ve all gotten good at working by candlelight. John sets up kerosene lanterns all over the kitchen for Rodney to see by, but if the power goes out for more than an hour, they close the place down.

He doesn’t really give too much thought to politics, except when it gets in his face, like the most recent gay marriage atrocity, and then he just yells “fucking Republicans” at anyone who will listen, but now he thinks he might have to start paying attention to global warming, because it’s getting in the way of his _cooking_. The frisée salads have been wilting lately, even when the salad guy plunges them into a bucket of ice water right before serving. And that dilutes the dressing.

Finally Elizabeth just decides to close down for a week. She gives everyone a little bonus to make up for the tips they won’t be getting. They freeze everything that can be frozen, and divvy up what can’t between all the staff. Rodney gets a nice batch of scallops to take home.

Saturday before they close up, there are only a few customers. Everyone who can get out of town already has; those who can’t are lying under their air conditioners and fans, and ordering take out.

Even the tourists are clogging up museums on the Upper East Side, shuffling back to their hotels early, and no one is schlepping all the way down to Chelsea for dinner.

John mops up the bar with a damp towel at the end of the night, and Rodney sits drinking a big glass of water. He can’t even bear the idea of helping finish up the leftover bottles of white wine—alcohol makes him hot, and he’s already sweating buckets from the kitchen. Even with only a few customers, it never got below 40° C in there, and Rodney’s whites are drenched. John will probably have to mop up the bar stool when Rodney stands up.

“What are you going to do with the time?” asks John. He carefully doesn’t look at Rodney when he says it. Rodney’s never pushed for anything, he lets John do all the inviting. He still thinks of John as a straight boy who Rodney was lucky enough to find during an experimental period.

“Lying under the AC in my underwear with a bowl of ice cream,” says Rodney, with a grin like it’s a joke, but they both know it’s the unvarnished truth. “Tomorrow, anyway. After that, who knows? What about you?”

“Going down the shore on Monday. You can come if you want?”

Rodney pictures hanging around at the summer share of a bunch of John’s frat buddies—Rodney assumes they are frat buddies even though John has never mentioned a fraternity or even college—while they go out and surf. Probably there won’t be clean towels, the bathroom’s floor will be mildew-covered linoleum curling up at the corners, and he’ll be sleeping on a pull out couch. Pizza will be the only thing to eat, Bud Light the only drink and . . .

John covers one of Rodney’s hands with his. “I’d like you to come,” he says with a little smile.

They agree that John will pick him up Monday evening, after the sun has gone down and the air started to cool.

***

Rodney doesn’t recall giving John his number, but John calls anyway on Sunday afternoon. Rodney braces himself for the inevitable: no room at the share, sorry, parents in from out of town, some excuse so John doesn’t have to bring him. But instead John wants to come over.

Rodney’s apartment is a small ground-level one-bedroom in Chelsea, with a kitchen that takes up almost a third of the available floor space. It’s spitting distance from Atlantis, closer than he’d like—some distance between work and home helps with his creative juices.

He buzzes John in and answers the door in his boxers and a t-shirt, as promised. John's hair has wilted in the heat and hangs sadly over his forhead, but he wears threadbare jeans that are more holes than fabric, and a white t-shirt that looks like it’s been through the wash a million times. The dark hair of his chest shows through the sheer fabric and Rodney thinks that maybe his AC is cranked high enough to allow for a little touching.

“You have chocolate on your lips,” says John.

Rodney hands him the container of Ferrara’s Chocolate Gelato that he has in his hand and says, “Come in, you’re letting all the cold air out.”

There’s a re-run of Tony Bourdain on the TV, and John and Rodney sit foot to foot on the couch passing the gelato back and forth and watching Tony eat obscene amounts of _foie gras_ in Montreal. At this point Rodney is more jealous that Tony is somewhere cold (recorded 6 months ago, dumbass, his brain supplies) than he is of all the _foie gras_.

Tony’s trying some _poutine_ when John slides his foot up Rodney’s leg and toes his balls gently. Rodney twitches in instinctive fear at having someone’s foot near something delicate, but John is gentle, and it feels relaxing and exciting at the same time, in a way that raises the hair on his arms.

John pulls his foot away and smirks in a way Rodney would find annoying if it weren’t so sexy. Rodney shifts himself forward and starts to run his hand up John’s thigh when he gets an idea. He gives John the best kiss in his repertoire, and is gratified to note John’s cock becoming hard under his hand. “Hold that thought,” he says against John’s ear.

John smiles serenely, Rodney would say trustingly, but he can see something guarded in John’s eyes. Rodney goes into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of olive oil, and puts it on the coffee table. John raises an eyebrow questioningly, and Rodney unscrews the top.

“Is this what I think it is?” asks John, with a smile like he likes whatever Rodney has planned.

“I don’t have any lube in the living room,” says Rodney. “First, taste.” He spills a little of the oil onto his fingers, and John plays along, licking up Rodney’s hand and biting a little on his fingertip.

“Good,” says John. He smirks again. “The olive oil, too.”

“Ha, cute,” says Rodney, but he gasps when John’s tongue finds the sensitive skin between his first and second finger, and it ruins the sarcasm. “It’s Spanish,” says Rodney when he’s a little more composed. “It has a more herbal flavor than most olive oils. You could put it on some bread--,”

“Save the food lecture, for once,” says John. “That’s not what I would put it on.” He wipes his hand off on Rodney’s boxers and starts working them down.

Even with the AC the air is sluggisn and stick, but Rodney’s starting not to care. He tugs at John’s threadbare shirt, starts unbuttoning his jeans. He tugs the jeans off over John’s slim hips, running his hands over the brown all-over skin, as he exposes it.

When John is naked, Rodney puts some more olive oil on his hand and without preamble puts his mouth around John’s cock, and slides his hand back behind John’s balls. He circles the sensitive skin there with his finger as he slides his tongue along Sheppard’s cock. He feels John clench his ass-cheeks together, even as his cock stiffens more in Rodney’s mouth, so Rodney doesn’t press, just leaves his finger where it is, and starts sucking on John with more urgency.

John relaxes again, and Rodney backs off his sucking and starts rubbing circles around John’s entrance. When Rodney pushes his finger in, John breathes in sharply and his cock thickens so much Rodney thinks he’s miscalculated and John’s going to come too fast, so he stops entirely, just leaving John’s cock in his mouth, not moving at all.

“I should tell you,” says John, and the breathless, gravely sound of his voice when he’s aroused makes Rodney flush, “I should tell you that I haven’t done this in a long time.”

Rodney’s mouth is full, but John answers what he wanted to ask anyway. “And by ‘this’ I mean getting fucked, hard, I hope.”

Rodney lets John out of his mouth, looks up at him and says, “I bet you say that to all the guys,” he says as he works his finger further into John, and watches expressions of pleasure and uncertainty cross over his face. John almost never looks unguarded, but he does right now, and it’s an incredible turn on.

Rodney puts his mouth around John’s cock again, and relishing the noises John makes, like he’s trying to be quiet but can’t restrain himself.

Rodney stops again, and John looks a little aggrieved, but Rodney asks, “How do you like. . .?”

“The traditional way always works pretty well,” says John as he turns over. Rodney pushes his fingers in again, watching how John expands to take him eagerly this time, how he moves his hips back to meet Rodney’s fingers as they go in, but he can’t wait much longer. He slides a condom on, and presses his cock into John’s ass, slowly at first, but John’s either lying about not doing this recently, or he’s really turned on because he lets Rodney in faster than Rodney expects.

Rodney stays still for a moment anyway, to let John relax into him, but John makes an impatient sound and starts pressing back against Rodney insistently.

Oh, he’s still tight though, and arches his back when Rodney sinks all the way in. Rodney enjoys the feeling of John’s ass against his thighs before he pulls slowly back. He’d like to see John’s face when Rodney’s this deep into him, but it’s still a pleasure to see the muscles of his back move as he rocks back to meet Rodney, and to hear the shallow catches of breath when Rodney pushes all the way in.

John’s still tight enough to be just on the pleasurable side of painful, and so it’s surprising and almost too intense when Rodney comes, halfway through a stroke, before he has a chance to stroke John off a second time, before he has a chance to do much of anything but ride the sensation.

He pulls out regretfully, pulls off the condom and ties it off. John starts to turn over, but Rodney tells him to stay where he is. Rodney wets his fingers with some of the olive oil again, and runs his fingers gently around the edges of John’s entrance before wrapping his slicked fingers around John’s cock and jerking him off. He bends down and licks around John’s entrance; he feels John’s back stiffen again, but he makes no protest, and he comes as Rodney tongue-fucks him.

***

It sounds casual when John says, “So you’re going to break up with Carson, right?” His back is to Rodney, and if Rodney hadn’t spent so long watching him surreptitiously, watching him with women and men and everyone he ever talked to, he wouldn’t have picked up on anything other than casual in his voice. Not said: “or maybe I’m just a piece on the side right?” because John knows better than to be desperate, but Rodney can read the line of tension in his naked back.

“Of course,” he says, and half runs to cross the few feet between them and hold John tight to him. He wants to say other things too, to babble that he wants this, too much, that he’s never wanted anything so much, but he doesn't, instead he guides John into the shower, and turns down the light in the bathroom so he can only see John's silhouettes under the cool spray.

Late that night a thunderstorm breaks the heat. The gutters fill with water, and overflow, and summer’s fallen yellow leaves flow down the streets. Rodney and John both wake up to the thunder and John tugs Rodney’s cock into his ass again as they lie spooning; they fuck slowly, without speaking, while the electric air cools around them.


End file.
